


Wet Rot and Destroying Angels

by swmbo



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swmbo/pseuds/swmbo
Summary: Tune out his negative vibrations; they're toxic. Some folks just don't want to be happy.Branch doesn't sing and he doesn't dance. But he did once try to be happy.





	Wet Rot and Destroying Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CozyPillowFightClub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyPillowFightClub/gifts).



Trolls weren’t loners. They needed company and friendship and frequent, invasive hugging. That was a fact, Branch knew. It was the whole reason that he was considered a freak, a freak in a culture where nobody - absolutely nobody - was considered weird or bizarre or anything but their own, awesome, super awesome and sometimes even awesome-sauce sprinkled with glitter, self. When you’re a troll, you could be absolutely anything you wanted and be celebrated for it. Anything, that is, except alone. 

So it was a complete and total shock the first time Branch rounded the trunk of an oak tree and nearly fell over Creek. Alone. Sitting with his legs pretzeled and a strange, taupey cast to his purple skin from the shadows flickering over him.

At the sound of Branch stumbling backwards, Creek’s eyes flickered open. “Ahh, namaste, young Branch.”

“We’re the same age, Creek.” Branch bristled. 

Creek tsked lightly. “Only in years, my child. I am an old soul.” 

“Old like stinky cheese.” Branch muttered under his breath. It wasn’t exactly a great comeback, but something … no, everything about Creek was extra annoying, even for a troll, and it threw him off balance.

“Sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.” Creek cocked his head to one side, a smirk playing about his lips. Then his eyes lit upon the foraging basket heaped with mushrooms that Branch was still clutching despite his near fall. His smile somehow grew even smirkier, which sent a strange shiver down Branch’s spine. “I see you, too, are a seeker of enlightenment.” 

“What? No! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Branch took a step back. “I’m a seeker of not-dying-of-starvation in my bunker once the Bergen come.”

Creek’s face went still. “The Bergen,” he said flatly. “Are you still going on about that nonsense?”

Branch didn’t answer. He could feel his face flushing with shame at the contempt in Creek’s voice. It shouldn’t still hurt. He should be used to the way the other trolls dismissed his warnings but somehow, seeing Creek’s face right now brought it all back again. Oh, it was ‘good-natured’. ‘All-in-good-fun’. After all, they were trolls. It was impossible for them to be … Branch couldn’t even think the word. When trolls teased, it was out of friendship and love, Branch … Branch knew that. But he still couldn’t quite meet Creek’s eyes, and he lowered his gaze, eyes snagging on Creek’s bracelet.

*BING* It popped green.

“Oh, crap.” Branch took another step back, raising his basket in front of himself protectively.

Creek laughed, a surprisingly ragged sound. “Don’t worry, Branch. I’ll tell you a secret … since nobody would actually believe you, anyway. I don’t actually like hugging.”

“Wait, what?” Branch was so stunned, he dropped his basket. It bounced twice on the forest earth and several mushrooms rolled out, one of them landing near Creek’s foot. 

Creek reached out and snagged it, casually studying it, then rose to his feet so gracefully it made Branch’s chest feel hot and tight. “It disrupts the flow of my chi.” He nodded to Branch, inclining his head toward the pile of mushrooms still in the basket. “Save the purple ones.” With that, Creek slipped away.

“Ok, then.” Branch said into the sudden silence of the forest.

 

*** *** **** 

 

The second time Branch saw Creek alone, it was on his bunker mat. After Creek had pounded on the entrance rock long enough that Branch had given in and thrown open the trapdoor with a snarl. 

“What?!”

Creek stumbled into the tunnel. “Branch, mate, you’re looking very … well, I can see you.”

Branch wasn’t sure that was actually true, considering how badly Creek was swaying and the glazed, pink look in his eye. 

“Creek. You’re … here. In my bunker.” Nobody ever showed up at Branch’s bunker. If he’d been asked - and he never was - Branch would have said that nobody even knew where his bunker was. 

“I’d like to see your Knobby Top,” Creek leered at Branch.

“Uh, what?” Branch took a step back. 

“Your Bald Knight, your Scurfy Twiglet …” 

“It’s not a Twig… Wait, WHAT?” Branch took a deep breath, trying to control his racing heart and the heat he could feel spreading across his face. 

“The mushrooms you collected the other day, mate!” Creek’s eyes glinted in the cavern gloom and he reached out, trailing a finger across Branch’s face. Branch froze and Creek stepped closer.

“Are - are you high?” Branch squeaked out.

“High? High on life, my friend! On life … and a few other things. Unfortunately, they’re wearing off … but I know you’ve got the goods. C’mon now, it’ll be good for your karma. Plus, sharing is caring. Do a friend a solid.”

“We’re not friends!” Branch wasn’t going to go down the path again. He remembered Moxie’s birthday party; he’d gone there sincerely worried for everyone’s safety and received eye rolls and a face full of glitter. “I don’t have friends.”

“No. No, you don’t. Although … Poppy likes you..” Creek’s voice was soft and quiet as he closed his eyes. A soft wash of color swept over his face as he took a deep breath and when he opened his eyes again, they were clear and sober and cold. 

He took a step forward, pushing Branch up against the side of the tunnel. Every muscle in Branch’s body locked as Creek grabbed his wrists, then relaxed as Creek leaned against him. Creek smelled like winter, like the sharp burst of frost on a cold night, a hint of snow laced with peppermint, cold and piercing. “But it’s true; you don’t actually have friends. But right now, you can have me.”

 

*** *** **** 

 

After that, Branch saw Creek alone often. 

Not often enough, of course, and not - not regularly. There were times Creek would show up, fuck Branch without a word and leave just as quickly. Others when they spent days in a haze of sweat and skin and bruises, Creek issuing commands and Branch finding himself obeying, lost in a fog of _more_ and _harder_ and _again_ until everything else slipped away, all his fears and worries paling in comparison to the feeling of Creek’s teeth nipping at his thigh, fingers pinching at his nipples, sharp flashes of pain that dulled into dull aches, Creek’s hands alternatingly harsh and gentle against Branch’s skin. 

Sometimes Branch would show up three nights in a row; once, he hadn’t shown up for two weeks. After the first week passed, Branch had been briefly panicked Creek had been eaten by a Bergen - he’d even ventured out to start a search party, bursting into Lemon Disco’s baby shower to warn everyone that the Bergen were coming, that they’d already gotten Creek …

Only to see Creek lounging against the gift table, chatting with Aspen. Creek had ignored him, and Branch had stumbled out, confused and hurt. Five days later, Creek had shown up and acted like none of it had happened. Branch, still hurting, had tried to ask where Creek had been.

He’d found himself face down on the bed, Creek’s hair twining around Branch’s wrists like rope, locking them down, his voice growling in Branch’s ears, telling him to _be quiet_ and asking _do you want me to fuck you, Branch or answer to you?_

After he’d gone, Branch tried to remember why he’d been so upset, but all he could think of was the swell of joy he’d felt when he’d gasped out ‘fuck me,’ and Creek had told him he was beautiful and perfect. For a second, Branch had even believed he’d seen the skin of his own hand start to glow a rich teal in the flickering light.

Months passed, and Branch thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be his life. Creek, the bunker, enough supplies to last them through a Bergen invasion … together, they could do this.

 

*** *** **** 

 

The last time Branch saw Creek alone, they were both sticky and panting, skin plastered together, bruises smudged across the blue-grey skin of Branch’s chest and thighs, Creek’s eyes bright and cold and cruel. 

Creek’s finger idly traced the outline of a mark across Branch’s chest, pressing just enough that Branch winced in pain as he mused, “You know, the twenty year celebration is coming up in just a few weeks, mate. We should go together…”

Branch frowned, catching Creek’s hand. “You know that I hate parties.” 

“I know that, of course. I hate them, too. But we need to go.”

“But _why_?” Branch burst out. “Why do you go if you hate them?! If you hate all of it? Why can’t we just … stay here? Together?”

“Because I’m a troll, Branch. We’re both trolls. We’re supposed to love singing and dancing and hugging! We need to look like we do too, like we fit in. Because Poppy does love those things. And one of these days, Poppy is going to be queen … and the trolls that are close to her, the trolls that like what she likes and do what she does, those are the trolls that are going to be someone. Someone with power.”

Branch scowled. “So that’s it? You’re doing it for some stupid power? Making us both miserable?”

“There’s nothing stupid about power! Without it, we’re nothing.”

“I’m nothing, now?” Branch tried, and failed, to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“No!” Creek sucked in a deep breath, exasperation showing on his face. “That’s what I’m saying, Branch. Poppy likes you for some reason, mate, even though you’re … well, you. We don’t have to get it, we just have to take advantage of it. That’s why I picked you. Together, you and I, we could run things. You just have to … put on a little show. Glitter it up a little, show that you’re in it to win it and all.”

Branch sucked in a deep breath, his chest hot and tight as Creek’s words cut through him. He slid away from Creek, shaking his head. “This - this whole thing. It’s because Poppy likes me? You want to use that?”

Creek shrugged. “It’s just a piece of the puzzle. I’m using you, you’re using me … I help get you out of your head, you help get me into a position of even greater power. We both win. You just have to do your part.”

“No. I’m not a liar.”

“Like me, you mean?” Creek’s voice was suddenly like ice. 

“Listen, just because you’re ok pretending that everything is all rainbows and starshine, doesn’t mean that I’m going to do it! The Bergens are coming and we need to be prepared!”

“THE BERGEN AREN’T COMING!” Creek’s voice blasted out. “You need to stop this childish fantasy and grow up, Branch! Act like a troll for once!”

Branch blinked, once, twice. He’d known for a while now that the public Creek, the persona he put on when he was around everyone else was fake. But he’d thought that meant that he saw the real Creek, that those moments in the bunker were the truth. But this … 

“You need to leave.”

“Branch …”

“No. Get out of my bunker. And when the Bergen come, don’t think I’m going to save you.”

Creek rolled his eyes, sliding out of bed. Then he turned and looked at Branch, eyes like steel as they raked up and down Branch’s body. “None of this,” he waved his hand in a circle that encompassed the room, the bed and Branch himself, dismissing him. “Ever happened. Got it?” His voice was low and ugly, and Branch felt another spurt of shame shudder through him. “If you so much as hint to Poppy about any of this … anything I told you … well, mate, you won’t like what it does to your karma, if you know what I mean.”

“Just … “ Branch could feel the swell of humiliation in his stomach rising, the feel of tears pricking against his eyes. He was not going to cry over Creek. He hadn’t cried since his grandmother died and he wasn’t ... not now. “Just leave, Creek, ok? I won’t tell anyone.” 

“No. No, you won’t.” The darkness in Creek’s eyes was growing. “I’ll make sure of that.” With that, he turned and slipped away.

Branch squeezed his eyes shut, covering them with his hands. Every part of him hurt; his jaw was throbbing and the bruises on his body pulsed with a low, deep ache. Worse, though, was the fact that while he’d always been a loner, this was the first time he actually felt alone. For a second, he thought he'd almost welcome the Bergen.

**Author's Note:**

> Wet Rot, Destroying Angel, Knobby Top, Bald Knight, Scurfly Twiglet, and Lemon Disco are among the many delightfully named mushrooms taken from http://mentalfloss.com/article/71159/70-totally-amazing-common-names-fungi - if only I had managed to use Snaketongue Truffleclub or Plums and Custard ...
> 
> _What if Creek and Branch secretly had a thing based on mutual hate!sex even before the movie started?_


End file.
